


Lucky Shot

by Milfomancer



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Breathplay, Cunnilingus, Deepthroat, F/F, F/M, Fingering, Gen, Impregnation, In which Dorothea regales how she fell in love in Lysithea, Lap Pillow, Pining, Spanking, Yuri, handjob, in which Flayn is a horny saint and Linhardt is happy to comply, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23813668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milfomancer/pseuds/Milfomancer
Summary: A look into three relationships at Garreg Mach, and how the stress of war with the Adrestian Empire affects them. Dorothea prays Lysithea returns from her mission south, growing more anxious as the days go by. Flayn and Linhardt contemplate their happy future together. Mercedes teases Caspar with a misplaced key.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Mercedes von Martritz, Dorothea Arnault/Lysithea von Ordelia, Flayn/Linhardt von Hevring
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

"They aren't supposed to be home until tonight at the earliest, Dorothea darling. You're going to get a crick in your neck if you keep snapping it to the window every time a bird flies by."

Manuela taps her teacup with a small sterling silver spoon, a gift from an admirer many years ago. She catches Dorothea's eyes.

"I know, Professor I just... I'm worried. I always worry when she goes out."

The Church had sent a battalion south to deal with an Empire detachment to protect the Church's supply lines. Two weeks ago, Professor Byleth and his captains had headed south, Lysithea among them. Only a few days ago had word reached Garreg Mach that they could arrive back home as early as tonight.

"Something had to have happened for them to be so delayed. What if something happened to them?" Dorothea grips her delicate teacup. "What if something happened to Lysithea?"

Manuela reaches out and places her hand on Dorothea's leg to comfort her, squeezing it before returning her hand to her teacup.

"I've heard some people say that you get used to the feeling. Personally I think that's a load." She takes a sip. "I don't think you can get used to it... To not knowing if you'll see your loved ones again. I don't know how you ever could, unless you were a heartless shell. I'm sure even Shamir worries about Catherine coming back sometimes."

This little quip causes Dorothea to give a nervous chuckle. Catherine and Shamir's relationship was the worst kept secret at Garreg Mach. So much so that calling it a secret was an insult to all the other secrets at the monastery. Shamir could insist they were "merely professionals, with no room for such frilly nonsense during war" all she wanted, but any returning campaign with Thunderbrand Catherine in it was greeted at the gates by the Spymaster. It did not escape anyone's sight that Catherine always seemed to need a 'debrief' after every mission. Often times a very loud debrief.

"I'm sure she does, Manuela." Dorothea sighs and sinks into her seat, pouting. "But just because it's normal to feel anxious… That doesn’t make this feeling in the pit of my stomach go away. It's like... It's like I'm staring down a cliff, waiting for someone to come along and push me off. Or... Or waiting in formation, just before a battle takes place."

Dorothea shivers despite the relatively hot Horsebow Moon afternoon air. Summer maybe be nearing its end, but was not leaving quietly. The ornate window in Manuela's private dormitory was open as much as its odd shape would allow. It had been nearly a month since she had last seen Lysithea, a tragic reality of fighting a war against an empire lead by one of the most intelligent and ruthless people Dorothea had ever known.

Well, thought she knew, anyway. She tries to take another sip from her teacup only to find its contents empty.

Manuela sees this and reaches to pour her another cup, but Dorothea raises a hand. "No, thank you. I fear if I keep absentmindedly sipping on tea, I won't have the appetite to be too nervous to eat dinner. That, and my 'Welcome Home, Babe' outfit is a pain to get in and out of, so I'd like to limit my washroom breaks if I can help it." Manuela laughs heartily. "What's so funny?"

Manuela giggles, "Not much of 'Welcome Home, Babe' outfit if it's so hard to take off, is it dear?"

Dorothea blushes slightly, but grinned. "Manuela! Is that really any way to talk to one of your students? What are you implying?"

"Oh please Dorothea. You're almost 22, you are no child anymore!" The smile faded a bit from her face. "Worrying about your girlfriend coming home from war is not something a child does."

The brief brevity that echoed through the room fades to a somber silence. Manuela picks up her cup and saucer from the table, walks to her large steamer chest, and begins rooting around. "Are you sure I can't convince you to have one last drink with me, Dorothea?"

The warlock looks down at her empty teacup. Manuela was right, she should change anyway. Having no reason to wear them herself, Lysithea fussed with Dorothea's straps and clasps as much as any man she'd been with. She thought back to the sight of her silky white hair and her adorable pouting face looking up between her breasts while she fumbles to untie her corset. Then she remembered Lysithea being unable to pull Dorothea's purple and black lace panties down because of her garter straps, so the thespian simply pulled them to the side and smashed Lysithea’s adorable lips and exquisite tongue into her aching pussy and-

Manuela's search for whatever she was looking for had apparently bore fruit, as her "Aha!" snaps Dorothea back to the room, slightly warmer than before she had spaced out. "Maybe I will take that drink, Manuela. I'm thirstier than I thought." She mentally giggles at her little double entendre. "I'll put the kettle back on th-"

With some force, Manuela sets down two lowball glasses on the table with a low plunk. Without a word she pours a scant inch in Dorothea's glass, and a slightly more generous pour for her own. She gently sets the rather plain bottle on the table between them, screwing the top back on tightly. Dorothea takes a tentative sniff. Whiskey. She didn't often drink, aside from a glass of wine here and there, but she had smelled the smokey scent of whiskey on someone's breath more than enough times to identify it. Strange, she didn't often see Manuela opting towards the stiffer spirits.

"I certainly hope you aren't wasting your expensive liquor on me, Manuela. I can't tell the difference between this and what you'd order in a seedy tavern."

Manuela takes a small sip. "That's because that's exactly what this is. Crow and Spade whiskey. It is basically the cheapest bottle of drink you can get." She stares out the window, swirling her drink.

"O-oh." She looks down. She can just see her reflection on the shaking surface of the drink. It takes Dorothea a second to realize the image is shaking because her hand is shaking. The glass once is once again set on the table with a slightly deeper plunk.

"When I was younger, closer to your age than mine now, times were also... uncertain. Not nearly as much as they are today, but to say all the land was peaceful would be a lie. We would sometimes perform for soldiers and their caravans. On one trip, we had happened to be traveling on the same road as a platoon of men from the Kingdom. For a week and a half, we performed impromptu acts, songs, and dances for the soldiers. I think the official reasoning to justify our slowed paced was to repay them for their 'protection', but honestly we were just happy to perform for someone. One soldier in particular had caught my eye. Or maybe the other way around, I was quite the catch back in the day you know!" Manuela smirks.

Dorothea smiles, "You still are a catch Manuela! Go on, tell me about this studly warrior you wooed!" The physician takes another minuscule sip of the whiskey.

"Thank you, Dorothea. Somehow it makes me feel a little better to hear that coming from someone as beautiful as you. But studly warrior might be a bit of an overstep.

"Owl had a handsome enough face and wasn't unpopular among his fellow soldiers, but quickly developed a reputation within our troupe for being rather rude. People said he never bothered to remember who people were. That seems a little petty, but when your life revolves around your name being applauded you can have... skewed views. I think it was maybe the fourth or fifth night I had performed for them. I had a glorious solo, the ending to _The Duke's Wife's Marriage_." Another tiny sip. She was about to continue before Dorothea cut her off.

"You sang the solo finale of _The Duke's Wife's Marriage_ five nights in a row?" she asked incredulously.

"Oh honey, when you have wagons full of husband material, you find it in you," Manuella said with a wink. She continued, "Anyway, for the past 3 nights one soldier, in particular, was always front and center for my performance. He asked me to dinner the moment I finished my song - never took his eyes off me, even for a second!"

"Was it this 'Owl' guy?"

"Indeed it was. Of course I had no idea at the time. He was perfect a gentleman that knew how to treat a woman." Manuela flashed a knowing smile. "To a meal and otherwise"

A yellow leaf lazily drifts past the open window. Dorothea jerks her eyes once again to the open window, feeling her heartbeat in her throat. _Maybe I do need a drink_ , she thinks.

"So Owl. He did have his... oddities. Never once did he seek me out during the day, and with their helmets on it was impossible to distinguish anyone. I would only see him once I started singing. I didn't think much of it until one evening he was pulled away by one of his officers. He said he would be right back, but I waited and waited, looking everywhere for him, carrying our two drinks. In the middle of my search, a few of my friends came up to me to chat about my filled hands. I started to explain the situation, when suddenly, he walks right over to me, and plucks his drink from my hand! 'I always come back for a drink', what a dog! I asked him where he had been, he said he couldn't find me in the crowd. He explained his... issue.

"His explanation was that he had no ability to remember faces. Prosopagnosia. I didn't know this at the time, of course. They just called it 'face blindness'. That's why he never greeted anyone properly, he had no idea who he was talking to half the time."

Dorothea furrows her brown, "So then how did he recognize you?"

Manuela puffs her chest a little, steepling her one hand below her neck in a grandiose gesture. "Why, by my most valuable asset!"

There is a short silence that Dorothea breaks first.

"Your br-"

"My voice!" The songstress huffs as she returns to her regular posture in the seat, continuing her story. "That was why he couldn't find me until I went up on stage. That's why he wouldn't take his eyes off of me. 'I was afraid of losing you to the crowd for the whole night', he said. He was so sweet. After that night I always wore a bright red feather on my lapel so he could always spot me. I grew to be very fond of Owl. Though, even once we both arrived in town, I didn't intend for anything serious to happen. After all, who knew how long they would be in town before being sent off to Goddess knows where around the continent. In fact, it was only 2 weeks after we arrived in Gaspard they had their orders to ship off towards the Western Church to quell some local riot or something.

"Well, the night before they were to leave, Owl and I of met over drinks. Well, one drink for each of us." She tips the bottle of Crow and Spade over a little and lets it settle. "He poured a single drink for me and himself, we sat back, nestled into a blanket, and watched the town square bustle itself to sleep. I must have dozed off because I woke up in the middle of the night to Owl talking to one of his commanding officers. They were shipping out earlier than expected. Before he left, he took a swig from the bottle and gave me a kiss, telling me he'd be back to share another drink. 'I always come back for a drink', he said again. " A light blush fell across her face. "I even asked 'Promise?' like a little girl just out of grade school. Of course he responded with a 'promise' and a wink.

"I waited three weeks in that town and had nearly given up hope. The only news I heard was that something had happened at the Western Church. Something bad. A month after they left, our troupe was set to move out, having performed our string of shows. Once again I found myself on the eve of a departure, a glass of cheap whiskey in my hand. Only this time I didn't have anyone to join me. I poured Owl a glass anyway, and toasted him. I finished my glass, but didn't have the heart to pour another drop. I felt if I did, that would be admitting I didn't think he would be coming back." Manuela sighs, again looking down at her drink.

"Well? Did... Did he come back?"

"Yes. I had fallen asleep waiting, but the battalion had returned in the night. Sitting in the chair next to me... there he was. Sipping his cheap whiskey like nothing was wrong. 'I always come back for a drink' he told me. The nerve! I asked him, 'what took you so long to find me?'. He had the gall to tell me 'You weren't singing'! Unbelievable, this man."

Dorothea giggles, relieved Manuela's story had a happy ending. Manuela downs the last of her drink in one swig. There was hardly more than a mouthful left anyway. "Just for that, I didn't give him his bottle back.

Looking down at her drink, Dorothea's eyes go wide and she says, "Manuela is, is this that same bottle?"

The songstress smiles. "I only pull it out when I'm worried a loved one might not make it back." She gives the bottle a tap, and Dorothea can see the bottle is nearing empty.

"Manuela I, I mean, are you sure?"

Manuela reaches out once more and gently clasps her hands around Dorothea's. "Anytime I've been truly worried about someone's return, I've poured myself a little glass. And look," she squeezes Dorothea's hand, "you've always come back home. I assume this will help your Lysithea return safe and sound."

Dorothea lurches forward, pulling her professor into a tight hug. "Thank you, Manuela. I mean it, thank you." She sniffles, only letting go after a long pause.

"You are quite welcome dear." She gets up, replacing the nearly empty bottle back to its storage. When she returns, Dorothea is once again staring out the window towards the horizon, now gripping her glass. Seeing this, Manuela says, "That girl doesn't know how good she has. How did she manage to steal your heart?"

A puff of air escapes Dorothea’s nose. "Strange, I think the same thing about Lysithea. 'How does someone so smart, so thoughtful, and so stinking cute even notice someone like me?'"

Manuela raises an eyebrow, "Is that a statement on how little you think of yourself, or how much you think of her?"

"Hmm, maybe a bit of both." The scars left by the haughty words of disdain and disgust she had once endured from the nobility still clouded her thoughts sometimes.

"Well, even I can see how wonderful you are, Dorothea, and we both know Miss von Ordelia is smarter than either of us could ever hope to be. I would trust her judgment," Manuela says with a smile. "Which means, she's more than smart enough to deal with that Adrestian brat and her lackeys." Dorothea laughs, finally relaxing a bit. Manuela was right. She could not think of anyone more capable than Lysithea and the Professor.

The warlock stares down at her drink, still untouched. She takes a breath, closes her eyes, and quickly throws back the whiskey. Ugh, how did Manuela sip this with a straight face! The harshness of the alcohol stings her cheeks, tongue, and throat, ending with a fleeting warmth in her stomach. She could feel it in her nose even after she had swallowed. Coughing a bit, she elicits another small laugh from Manuela.

"Well Dorothea, I would love to continue chatting with you tonight, but if I skip on my chapel duties again, the Archbishop will have my head." She gives Dorothea a quick peck on the top of her head from behind her seat. "Feel free to continue your vigilant watch. You should be the first to see them when the crest those hills. I hope to see you later tonight when everyone returns. Until then, my darling."

Dorothea listens to the clack of the songstress's heels down the stone hallway slowly fade away until the only sound she can hear is a lazy breeze whistling past the open window. She sighs and gets up to leave – true, she would probably be the first to see the returning army from the tower, but she also thinks she would go crazy sitting by herself. Scooting back, her chair hits an empty bottle under Manuela’s bed. Maybe tidying up a bit first would soothe her mind. It was the least she could do for her mentor.

As she picks up the few empty bottles and scatter choral sheets scattered about the room, she comes across of book on Crests. Dorothea frowns. Crests are a sore spot for both her and Lysithea, though their reasons are somewhat opposite to each other. Dorothea hadn’t had enough for her Imperial father’s tastes, and Lysithea had too many for her own.

Putting away books about Crests reminded Dorothea of the first she had really spoken to Lysithea, beyond the casual greetings of a fellow student. She had been up with Catherine and Shamir, enjoying some rare free time. Catherine and Shamir were both deep in their cups, playing some mercenary drinking game that Dorothea did not understand the rules to. There were coins and cards involved, and for some reason lots of hand slapping. It was still entertaining to watch, especially since Shamir seemed to lose only when she wanted another drink.

“That’s a six and seven, Catherine. No heads up, that’s your drink,” Shamir gloated.

Catherine stared down at the table, maybe hoping to see something behind the six of spades and seven of clubs in front of her. “You have to be cheating. There’s no way you’re this lucky.” She slurred out her halfhearted accusation even as she picked up the shot glass the sniper poured for her. She took a breath and down the drink, slamming the glass back down on the table. Catherine groaned and rested her forehead on the table. “I’m going… I’m going to figure out how you’re doing this, just… just give me a minute.”  
  
Shamir motioned to the barmaid for a glass of water for Catherine. When she turned back, Dorothea looked at her with a question on her face. Shamir flashed a big smile, revealing she quite literally had a card up her sleeve. Or rather, what looked like half a deck. She winked and put her finger to her mouth to give a “Shh!”, just as Catherine’s head shot up. The Knight of Serois followed Shamir’s gaze to Dorothea sitting beside her.

“You have Dorothea in on it! Dorothea how could you.” There was a genuine sound of betrayal in Catherine’s voice, that made Dorothea’s heart melt and, at the same time, made her laugh out loud.

Shamir joined her laughter, “Miss Arnault has nothing to do with it.”

“Is this true, Dorothea? Dorothea Arnault, do you know what Shamir is doing?”  
  
Dorothea faked indignation, “Why, Catherine, I am appalled you would accuse me of such devilish behavior Catherine.”

Catherine narrowed her eyes at Shamir, “She’s absolutely in on whatever it is you’re doing. How am I supposed to win when you have the world’s most beautiful warlock on your side?”

“Guess you’ll have to get your own mage on your side.”

Catherine leaned back in her chair, seeming to take Shamir’s advice seriously. “How about that Listhea kid? She’s supposed to be some prodigy, right? She’d back me up, we’re practically sisters.”

Shamir looked puzzled. “Lysithea? The von Ordelia kid? You couldn’t even remember her name, why is she ‘practically’ your sister?”

Puffing out her chest, Catherine said, “We share a Crest. That’s like being sisters, right?”

Dorothea remembered back to a time when Linhardt had a small obsession with the white-haired mage. Usually Dorothea just let Linhardt ramble, but if he had shown interest in her, it was probably something to do with her Crest.

“I believe Lysithea has a major Crest of Gloucester,” Dorothea said.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Incorrect, Miss Arnault. I can tell someone’s Crest just by lookin’ at em, and that kid has a Crest of Charon, though major or minor I couldn’t tell you.” Dorothea shrugged. She hadn’t been paying particular attention to Linhardt’s lectures.

Shamir prompted the lady knight to finish her glass of water before helping her up. “Dorothea, thank you so much for your company tonight.” Shamir cleared her throat, holding her arm out straight behind Catherine’s back – Dorothea could see two dozen-odd cards hanging in her sleeve. She giggled and carefully took them out and placed them back on the table, gently rubbing Catherine’s back to cover it. Shamir mouthed a thank you and walked Catherine out of the tavern.

Dorothea followed soon after, waving goodbye to Weiss, the barkeeper. She wanted to find Linhardt and asking him about Lysithea. If he was still awake, he would most likely be in the library, so that was where she headed.

There was quite a chill in the air. It was not very late, maybe 8 o'clock, but the sun had set hours ago. The air was still, but just walking through it was enough to numb Dorothea’s face. Thankful she had the forethought to bring her long red mantle with her, she wrapped it a little tighter and trekked to the monastery library.

Though there were still a few lights lit in the library neither the first nor second floor contained any von Hevrings. Dorothea sighed. He was probably warm in bed with Flayn. An annoying twinge of jealousy shot through Dorothea’s heart. Not of Flayn – Dorothea loved Linhardt like a little brother. Cute in his own way as he was, Dorothea also knew she would have set Linhardt on fire if she had to deal with his laissez-faire approach to life in any romantic fashion. Luckily Flayn was just as in the clouds as he was, and they were perfect for each other. That was what hurt Dorothea. Linhardt had found, for lack of a better word, his soulmate, and that’s what Dorothea was jealous of.

Coming down from the second floor, she spotted a shimmer of silvery-white hair. Serendipity be damned, Dorothea thought, Lysithea von Ordelia herself. She had grown since their early days as students, but she was still almost a head shorter than Dorothea. Lysithea was busy putting away a mountain of books. Being a mage herself, Dorothea recognized some on being magical theory, discussions of black and white magic, and a few on Crests.

Dorothea heard what sounded like someone jumping behind one of the bookshelves. She walked quietly down the last few steps and over to the noise. Poor Lysithea was on her tippy-toes trying to put a book back on a top-shelf. The tip of the book had been lifted to the shelf, but she was still having difficulties pushing it back.

That would explain the jumping, Dorothea thought. She ducked back towards the common area, and then made her way back towards Lysithea, this time being sure to give her heels a little extra clack. She turned the corner to see Lysithea holding the book in her hands.

“Oh, Lysithea. Would you like some help putting your books away? You have quite the catalog pulled, you’ll be here all night putting them away by yourself.” She reached her hand out, prompting for the one Lysithea held. There was no small look of relief on the girl’s face as she handed it over.

“I would greatly appreciate it, Dorothea. I had hoped to leave before it became too cold but… I was so engrossed that night had fallen and everyone had left before I noticed.” The genuine smile that lit up Lysithea’s face struck Dorothea.

The two worked through the pile, Dorothea making note of the books Lysithea would set aside. They were all books that went on higher shelves, and it amazed Dorothea that at just a glance, this girl knew exactly where in the library it belonged. She did remember Catherine calling her a prodigy. She held the last book in her hand – _An Examination of Major and Minor Crests of Western Families 670 – 830, Unabridged_ by Draubus Telrut. Dorothea held the doorstop up.

“Some light reading? Thank the Goddess it’s unabridged.”

Lysithea sighed, “Telrut is thorough, but is about as exciting to read as that book would be to eat.” This prompted a giggle from Dorothea.

“I know Linhardt shares your opinion. I’ve heard him complain about some Telrut guy for ages, about how he would ‘tell you exactly what you want to know, but it’s surrounded by 400 pages of drivel’.” Lysithea returned with her own little laugh. She brings her oversized sleeve up to her mouth and wrinkles sprout out around her eyes.

“He isn’t wrong. Don’t worry about that one, it stays on the table.”

“So then, did you find exactly what you wanted to know?”

Having no more books to put away, Lysithea had begun to extinguish the candles around the library. This question gave a moment’s pause before she licked her finger and snuffed the light.

“I got from it what I wanted, anyway. How cold is it exactly outside?” Dorothea decided to respect the abrupt change in topic, shutting the tome she had been absentmindedly leafing through. She gave Lysithea a look up and down.

She was wearing a white and purple dress that ended just below her knees, with dark purple leggings. The mage looked very cute, but ill-prepared for the weather. “Cold enough that you’ll have an unpleasant walk back to the dormitories.” Since the war had started, much of the space in front of the chapel had been converted to things like rooms for hospital beds, or filled with spears. Dorothea and Lysithea slept about a ten-minute walk away from the library.

Dorothea unbuttoned her deep red mantle on her shoulder. “You can join me under here. It should still cover us both.”

“O-Oh. Are you sure?” As unsure as her words were, she had already taken a step towards Dorothea.

“You’re going to let all the warmth I worked up trying to lift Telrut’s stupid Crest tome escape, get in here.” She did some mock poses, as if picking up that book had been a recording setting deadlift. She felt a prick of pride when Lysithea again giggled at her flexing, and moved to join her under the cape.

They shuffled the mantle until they were both mostly covered, leaving some elbow room in exchange for cold shins. It didn’t take long trekking through the cold night air for that space between them to shrink, until they were arm to arm.

Lysithea asked some questions about a play she had read recently, and Dorothea was more than happy to lend her opinion, having studied other works by the same author. She was practically giddy to have someone to chat with about music – Linhardt had no particular interest in it, and what could she tell Manuela that she didn’t know already about music?

They were still talking about the rising action in _The Sapphire Lily_ when they reached their sleeping quarters. They even spared an extra minute for Dorothea to answer one more question.

“Thank you so much Dorothea. I really should remember to bring proper warm clothes with me, especially since it is getting so late in the year. I really appreciate you walking back with me, that is a wonderful mantle and you look lovely in it.” She smiled as she hugged her body to retain some warmth.

Dorothea felt her face warm a little, despite the cold breeze that rolled by. “Why, thank you Lysithea. I’m glad you like it.” As Lysithea turned around to head to her room, Dorothea called out to her.

“Lysithea?” She stopped, and turned her head. The name had escaped her mouth before she was able to formulate why. “Would, would you like to get breakfast tomorrow? I enjoyed our conversation very much.” The tiny mage nodded enthusiastically.

“I’d love that, Dorothea. I will see you tomorrow!” Pulling a key from a pocket, she quickly scuttled to her door, and with a shivering hand unlocked the door. She waved one last time before she closed and relocked her door. Dorothea adjusted the cape, a faint smell of lilac washing over her as she pulled it over her face like a scarf.

Dorothea finishes sorting Manuela’s choral notes on her desk, feeling satisfied. That had been almost three years ago, and she still blushes whenever she thinks back to that night. Dorothea now loves when the nights grow colder, as it gives her a chance to wear that red cape. She looks out the window one more time. Still nothing.

“Well,” she says to no one but herself, “I guess it’s time to move this to the dining hall, so at least I can eat while I worry.” As she leaves, she takes one last glance back at Manuela’s two lowball glasses she set aside. “I hope you work as well for me as you do Manuela.”

Dorothea gently closes the door, and heads down to the dining hall for something to eat. She stops after closing the door, having a revelation.

“Oh my Goddess, they called him Owl because he must have always been asking ‘Who?’, _oh my Goddess_!”


	2. Chapter 2

“Linhardt if you don’t eat you’re going to wither away to nothing.”

The bishop looked at the nearly untouched plate in front of Dorothea, frowning. “Pot, kettle. Nice to meet you.” He continues to flip through a small book about Saint Cethleann, ignoring the little bit of food he scooped into his bowl.

Dorothea looks down at her own plate. Scalloped potatoes and leeks. It had looked more appetizing when she picked it up, but the pit in her stomach was in no mood to make room for food. She spears a single slice of potato and shoves it in her mouth, chewing loudly and obviously.

Linhardt sighs, putting his book down. He similarly takes a scoop of his potato and leek soup and loudly slurps it. “There, now we’re both properly fed.” He looks down at the rest of his soup. “I used to love both potatoes and leeks. It took a few weeks but I think I’m finally starting to get sick of them.” With their supply lines to the south tied up, the monastery had raided its root cellar to feed the stationed armies and students.

He returns to writing down notes from his book, but his quill snaps after only a few letters. Exasperated, he lays his forehead on the table in defeat. “Oh well. There’s only so many books that could start with that.”

“How in the world are you still doing homework assignments Linhardt?” Dorothea teases, pushing food around her plate. Her head sits in her hand, leaning her elbow on the table. Unladylike maybe, but since her dining partner was currently earning himself a red line across his head from pressing it into the table, she didn’t feel particularly bad about it.

Linhardt returns to an upright position, sporting a red line as Dorothea predicted. “All for the pursuit of knowledge, I assure you.” He watches his best friend stab the same piece of leek for the fourth time. “Practicing for the next time you see Edelgard?”

“Ha, if only.” She takes a small nibble. “I know Edie- Edelgard has done a lot of terrible things but… I’m not sure I’d be able to… you know. It makes me feel bad to say it but…”

A small smile plays on Linhardt’s mouth. “You know how I detest bloodshed, Dorothea. I understand how you feel completely. Edelgard was my friend, too. As much as I disagree with her actions now, that doesn’t change the fact that at one time, we trusted her with our lives. We all did. That is a hard feeling to shake, and I don’t blame you for your hesitation.” He sighs. “I don’t believe the professor holds any such reservations, though. Peace won’t return to Fódlan until Edelgard is stopped, and you and I both know that won’t happen while she draws a single breath. That’s the kind of woman she is.”

“That doesn’t make it any more pleasant to think about.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

The two sat in silence, letting the low rumble of the dining hall wash over them. The mood is thankfully broken when a sweaty Caspar clatters two trays filled with food on to the table, taking the seat next to Dorothea.

“Goddess, Caspar, you _reek_. Do you ever take that armor off?” Dorothea says through a plugged nose.

“Trust me, I am doing you a favor by keeping my armor on. Unless you want me to clear this entire hall out.” The knight begins to tuck into his own servings of potatoes and leeks. “What’s up with you two? You’ve hardly touched your dinners.”

“Dorothea is worried her girlfriend, one of the most powerful mages in Fódlan, won’t return from a routine mission.”

“Linhardt is worried he won’t be able to solve Flayn’s scavenger hunt in time to get any.” She sticks her tongue out at Linhardt, who responds by tossing his unused napkin at her.

“Okay, neither of those sound like particularly good reasons to not eat, but when have you two ever been normal?” He grabs a heel of bread from a nearly empty basket and reaches for a small pitcher of wine. “Ugh. Am I an asshole for complaining that we’ve had to water the wine down to make it last? I get we’re in the middle of a war but… It’s still so sad.”

Dorothea giggled, “You and Manuela can start a protest. She had similar grievances.”

After a moment of decision making, Caspar returns the pitcher to the middle of the table, instead, reaching for the larger pitcher of water. “Yeah, if I had to deal with the endless stream of injured… I’d want a stiff drink too. I don’t know how you manage, Linhardt, but thanks.”

“I appreciate it, Caspar. I’m not an actual physician like Manuela though. White Magic is pretty clean, but sometimes it isn’t enough, and you need someone to physically…” he swallows, “you know. Get in there.” He takes another slurp of his soup to get the thought of surgery out of his mind.

Caspar examines his roasted potatoes. “Linhardt, what stops potatoes from just like… growing forever.”

“Huh. That might be a better question for someone at the greenhouse. But, I assume it has something to do with them stopping growing in the winter?”

“So stuff in the greenhouse could just, like, keep growing?”

“I don’t know – I don’t think so. It’s probably just natural to stop after so much time, regardless of the actual temperature and stuff.”

“Imagine if we could grow vegetables and stuff the size of pigs. What would you guys grow?” Dorothea asks the boys.

For the first time since he sat down, Caspar stops eating, furrowing his brow. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Strawberries. Strawberries as big as your head.” Linhardt closes his eyes, taking a moment to enjoy his fantasy world with strawberry shortcake big enough to lay on.

“Oh, oh, corn – Imagine popped corn the size of your fist,” Dorothea says.

Caspar thinks for a second before saying, “Yeah, but imagine getting a kernel the size of a saucer stuck in your teeth, though. Yikes. I think I’m going to stick with potatoes. I want to be able to have a baked potato as big as a tower shield.”

Dorothea groans. “How can you want even _more_ potatoes, Caspar?”  
  
“Because I’m not a quitter. Speaking of, if you’re not gonna finish that, can I have it?”  
  
Dorothea looks over in amazement – Both of his trays had been emptied. “How did you have an entire conversation with us, eat all that food, and not inhale a knife?”

“Years of practice. Is that a yes?”

The songstress stabs a few slices of grilled leek and potatoes onto her fork before shoving the rest of the plate over.  
  
“Thaaank you,” Caspar says before devouring her dinner.

Linhardt turns to Dorothea as if he had some sort of epiphany. “Do you think he’s keeping his armor on because if he took it off, the black hole that is his stomach would consume us all?”

“I’m still a growing man. I need the calories.”

“All of them?”  
  
“Hey, this is only like…” he looks down at his dishes, “15% stress eating, max.”  
  
“I know, I’m just teasing Caspar.”

The knight eyes Linhardt’s soup. “I’ll forgive you if y-”

“Yeah yeah, way ahead of you,” the green-haired mage says, already sliding his bowl of soup over. “I’ve got to go to the library. I’ll see you guys later. Dorothea, I do hope Lysithea comes home safe and sound tonight. Also, watch your fingers around Caspar, somehow he still looks hungry.” Caspar takes a second from his meal to chomp a few times in Linhardt’s direction as he waves goodbye.

* * *

“I finally found you, Flayn,” Linhardt says as he opens the trapdoor to the tiny attic. He hasn’t even turned around on the ladder to see Flayn sitting with legs out in front of her, leaning against a crate of books, hands on her lap. She fumes.

“Linhardt, how did you know I was here before you even looked around to see me!”

He gently sets the trapdoor back in place, knocking the latch on it over. This crawlspace is out of the way, and no one would have any reason to investigate, but why waste time worrying? Linhardt had installed the latch years ago. In the spring, there was ample light and it was just warm enough to be comfortable. Now it’s almost October, and the light was just not in the right position. A shame. What was not a shame was the beautiful green-haired girl in front of him.

“I didn’t,” he starts as he plops himself down, laying his head on Flayn’s lap, “but either you weren’t in here and no one hears me, or you _are_ in here and I seem like I know everything.”

She lightly flicks his nose. “You are a scoundrel, Linhardt von Hevring.” He wrinkles his nose in mock pain. Flayn giggles, and begins to run her slender fingers through his long green hair. The young bishop closes his eyes, crosses his arms over his chest and takes a big breath in and out. Flayn was always immensely jealous of his hair over her own, as Linhardt’s hair would cooperate with pretty much any style she could think of. It was as easy and laid back as its owner. Linhardt loves to have his hair played with, and couldn’t care less what people think of him as he walks through the halls – a perfect combination that means Flayn could braid his hair however she pleases. “Wait, you said you didn’t actually know I was going to be up here. Didn’t you follow my clues?”

“Flayn, you left a cipher in my book that lead to a book in the library. I opened that book and found another piece of paper with some words on it. Now, I could have deciphered that this,” he pulls a slip of paper from his pocket and squints at it for a second, “slip of paper with names of birds from Alliance territory lead to some other clue… or I could just guess the like, three places I might find you.”

“You’re no fun.”

Linhardt frowns, opening his eyes to look into Flayn’s. “I’m sorry. Normally I love our little games. I just… didn’t have the energy today.”

Linhardt rarely shied from telling people he would rather be napping, or that he was too tired to do something, but Flayn could see the bags under her partner’s eyes, where his cheekbones showed just a little too much, and dark spots on his palms and hands – telltale signs of overcasting magic. Healing the soldiers who returned from campaigns was work that rarely ceased, and every healer was expected to help. Linhardt especially, given his crest of Cethleann, was pulling double duty both on the battlefield and at home. Flayn too was often busy in the medical wards, but unlike her, Linhardt did not possess a near-endless supply of magic. He was no Saint.

“I understand, love,” she says as she returns to stroking his hair, “I can’t say I’m sad I get to see you sooner than expected. You look like you need a break anyway. Between researching for Professor Byleth, leading your battalion, and casting White Magic for every punctured lung and scrapped knee at Garreg Mach, I don’t know where you find time to sleep.” They only manage to eat dinner together maybe once a week. Last week Linhardt was engrossed in an account of a general leading his army through the mountains and Flayn was helping her father Seteth double-check paperwork, and their meal was together in proximity only.

“I barely do. As tired as I am, sometimes I can’t fall asleep. Imagine that. I, of all people, unable to fall asleep. What’s next, Caspar not hungry?” he sighs. “This is the most I’ve relaxed in quite some time. Thank you, Flayn.” He nestles his head a little into her lap. “Your thighs are a gift from the Goddess for this weary man.”

Flayn giggles. “That’s right, come rest your weary head.” She began tracing circles on his chest. “I will soothe you, mind...and body.” She slips her hand below Linhardt’s waist, prompting a stirring under the cotton. The man in her lap takes a surprised breath in. “Shh, just relax, Linhardt.” She flips her skirt over his head.

Flayn starts to slowly rub a cupped hand between her boyfriend’s legs. An adorable smile spreads across Linhardt’s face as he closes his eyes. It wasn’t long before he is at full attention, throbbing against Flayn’s soft hand.

She begins stroking, very slowly at first. She relishes in the warmth in her grasp, as well as the warmth from Linhardt’s breath. It isn’t long before slick precum coats her hand, allowing her to slide it up and down with little twists. Her skirt shifts and she feels a kiss planted on her inner thigh. “I love you, Flayn.” It is all more than enough to flip the Saint’s switch.

With her free hand, Flayn grabs one of the pillows Linhardt keeps stashed in the loft, carefully putting it where her lap had been. She stands up, planting her feet right next to Linhardt’s ears. Slowly, she brings her hand up her bare thigh, lifting her blue skirt until her thumb hooks around her deep green lace panties. She shimmies them down to a silent tune. When her wet panties were down below her knees, she bends forward and asks, “Would you help me out, love?”

Linhardt is happy to participate, reaching up and running his hands around Flayn’s calves, pulling his prize down. She steps one foot out, and straights back up, giving her boyfriend an unobstructed view up her thighs to her glistening pussy, wearing a crown of soft jade-colored hair. Licking her hand, she uses her spit to slide two fingers into her aching entrance, though the sight of Linhardt lightly rubbing himself made her more than wet enough. The two continue their mutual masturbation session for a little while before Linhardt says, “I want to feel your mouth around me, Flayn.”

The Saint smiles, turning around and lowering herself down onto his waist. She rubs her soaking slit over the bishop’s throbbing cock while taking off her white top, throwing it onto the crate. Slowly, her patterned beige bra comes off, also thrown to the side. Linhardt takes in the sight: Without support, Flayn’s breasts sag slightly with a milky heaviness. She leans over, her inverted nipples dragging across his torso, and unbuttons his shirt so she can plant wet kisses on his bare chest. Reaching his hips, she pulls down his pants off completely, nestling herself between his legs. She slides his pulsing member between her cleavage, causing him to moan and push into her.

Obliging, Flayn wraps her tits around him, massaging him up and down. As much as she wants to keep staring at her love’s blushing and panting face, she fulfills his request to service him with her mouth. She flicks her tongue over his top, speeding up his panting. Next, she wraps her lips around his head, swirling her tongue around.

“That, that feels amazing Flayn,” Linhardt says, breathlessly.

Flayn pulls back, giving her space to slide her mouth further down the throbbing cock in front of her. She reaches up, gently pinching one of Linhardt’s nipples with one hand, and lightly massages his heavy balls with the other. She can practically feel how backed up he is, and that only makes her want to see him come that much more.

Lewd slurping noises echo in the loft as Flayn bobs her head up and down. She takes a deep breath and plunges all the way down, her nose pressed against Linhardt’s pelvis. Her tongue lashes wildly, escaping her mouth and licking everything she can reach. The Saint looks up, locking eyes with her boyfriend over his rapidly rising and falling chest.

“Is someone getting close?” she asks coyly after finally releasing her throat’s grip. Linhardt’s panting has devolved to full out moans as she quickly jacks him off, kissing the crook of his thigh.

“F-fuck, Flayn, I’m going to come… I want to come in your mouth so bad,” he manages to gasp out.

She grins, “I want you to come down my throat as hard as you can, can you do that for me, Linhardt?” The horny girl returns him to her wet mouth, continuing to jerk him off. Just as she begins to think he’s close, a rough hand slams her head down over his pulsing cock, sliding easily down her eager mouth.

Linhardt grunts, moaning as he lets loose several weeks worth of pent up stress deep into Flayn’s throat. She can feel him pumping his hot load into her as it races down his cock along her tongue. The spurts calm to a stop, and she begins to pull herself off, but the bishop still has a firm grip on her head, keeping her in place. A smile spreads across Flayn’s face. Well, as much as one can with a still hard dick cutting off her air supply. It takes a bit a prodding to get her boyfriend going, but once he starts…

Seeing Flayn’s eyes start to close from the lack of oxygen, Linhardt releases his grip. She slides off, coughing slightly as she slumps on to his thigh, a thick strand of drool connecting her mouth to Linhardt’s still-hard length. A slutty grin breaks across Flayn’s face, still slowly stroking the bishop off.

Linhardt stands up, Flayn in tow. He pushes her up against a support beam, placing his knee against it between the Saint’s drenched legs. Flayn melts as he mashes his lips into hers, feeling his tongue roughly explore her mouth.

“Seiros Above, Flayn, how am I suppose to relax when you show me a face like that?” He gasps between kisses.

“You – ah! – You aren’t,” she yelps as Linhardt gives her nipple a pinch. He pushes his body up against hers, letting her grind herself on his thigh as he rubs against her hips. Then he moves to kiss her cheeks and neck, nibbling on her ear, keeping his hand on her ample bust.

“L-Linhardt, nowhere so-! Someone could see – ah!”

He obliges, moving further down Flayn’s curves, leaving lovebites midway down her breast. His hand moves from her pink nipple down to her drenched pussy, easily slipping two fingers in. He begins to roughly stir her up, being sure to rub his palm into Flayn's stiff clit.

“Oh fuck, Lin, r-right theeere…!” She digs her nails into his back, certainly leaving marks, but she is too busy concentrating on her mounting climax to stop. Linhardt again pins his body against Flayns, giving her wobbly legs some reprieve.

“Such language, Flayn,” he pants into her ear, “so unbecoming. What’s gotten into you?”

“W-Well currently, my lover’s fi-ah, fingers,” she says. The two share a breathy giggle, Flayn’s quickly turning back into ragged breaths. She hugs Linhardt tight, her nails drawing small trickles of blood, still grinding into his hand. A wave of pleasure rocks her body as she climaxes. She can feel herself squeezing her boyfriend, trying fruitlessly to milk his fingers. The stress of the last month washes away, as she slumps against Linhardt.

Flayn barely has a moment to catch her breath before she is picked up and moved to the crate she had been leaning against earlier. She is flipped over, and feels Linhardt pressing against her.

“Ready for another round?” The bishop knows his partner could be very sensitive after coming, and sometimes needs a second to cool down. Flayn flips her skirt up and gives her ass a little shimmy. That’s all the answer he needs, plunging himself to the hilt into the Saint’s pussy.

Flayn yells in delight, not bothering to stop herself. There’s no one around to hear her anyway. Besides, she knows Linhardt loves when she’s vocal. As if to prove so, she gives another loud yelp when her bottom is slapped.

Linhardt gasps at the sensation, leaning forward and whispering into his lover’s ear, “Flayn you tightened up so nice, do – fuck,” he pauses to catch his breath, “do you want another?”

Facedown, moaning and biting down into her white top, she nods, giving another loud cry when struck. “Oh _fuck_ ,” she grabs a handful of Linhardt’s shirt behind her, yanking him forward. “Goddess Above, Lin, _harder_ ,” she tells him through gritted teeth. Linhardt is more than happy to give her perfectly peach shaped butt another firm smack, leaving a red handprint.

The feeling of Flayn’s warm folds tensing and gripping around his cock with each spank drives him wild. Her ass and thighs give a deeply satisfying jiggle after every hit, to say nothing of the symphony of moans and cries they elicit.

Linhardt hooks his hands around his lover’s wide hips for more leverage, angling himself to hit her weak spot with each thrust. The effect was almost immediate, Flayn’s legs begin buckling under her, putting her full weight on to the crate. He leans forward again, this time placing kisses along her neck and back. The taste of her soft skin and sweat cover his lips.

When he reaches up near her neck, Flayn whimpers to him, “I want to see your face, Lin.”

Immediately, Linhardt pulls out, flipping her once more so she can sit facing him on the now rather damp box. Flayn wipes a sweaty lock of her lover’s hair behind his ear, touching her forehead to his.

She reaches down, guiding his slick length back into her, not looking away from her lover’s piercing blue eyes. The two embrace as Linhardt begins to thrust, passionately kissing in between gasps.

“Have I told you lately that – ah – you’re the most ethereal woman I’ve ever met?”

“I’m sure you say that to all the heavenly Saints you – hmm! – fuck senseless,” she moans, nestling her face into Linhardt’s mess of dark green hair. “But I would not – _fuck_ – stop you from doing so more often.”

Linhardt changes his pace, switching to slower, longer strokes. He moves one hand to slowly rub Flayn’s clit. “Let’s see… I love your wild sea green curls in the morning before you style them. I love that I’m the only one who gets to see that part of you.” A crimson blush starts to form on Flayn’s face as he continues, “I love that you play little word games with me, and I love even more that sometimes you beat me.” He gives her butt a light smack, as best he can with her sitting. “I love your curves and your amazing chest and your adorable face.”

“Okay, okay! Stop stop stop!” Flayn is blushing furiously. This does not escape Linhardt’s attention.

“What’s wrong, O Holy Saint? You’re as red as a strawberry, did a few words make you feel embarrassed when your pussy is making such lewd noises?” He began to speed up again, feeling a familiar roar starting to build.

“I could – ah – turn you red as a salmon if I wanted to, you know,” she pouted, feeling close herself.

“Oh yeah? Well by all means, take your best shot.”

Feeling her partner’s thrust quicken and become more frantic, Flayn knew Linhardt was about to come. “Come inside me, Lin.” His pace again quickens. She leans in and whispers, “ _Today’s a dangerous day for me, Lin_ ,” and wraps her legs around him as he is unable to hold on any longer. Unable to pull out, with his final thrust he bottoms out inside Flayn, coming deep inside her. This combines with his rhythmic rubbing, and she follows right behind him.

No longer wasted on his fingers, Flayn feels herself clamping and writhing on Linhardt’s pulsating cock, trying to squeeze every last drop from him. With a great sense of satisfaction, she sees her line had the desired effect – Linhardt is flushed with a deeper red than even a man in the throes of orgasm should make. The two share another kiss, still connected at the hips as Flayn as not yet let go of her lover. Linhardt picks her up, very carefully returning to the floor as Flayn uncurls.

* * *

The green-haired couple lay out on the blanket and pillow Flayn had pulled from earlier, watching the sky change colors as the sun sets out the window. A pleasant breeze wafts in, gently cooling the still sweaty lovers. The heat did not stop Flayn from cuddling up close to Linhardt, her still wearing her skirt and panties on one leg, and he still wearing his unbuttoned shirt.

Flayn is busy tracing shapes on his chest, basking in her post-orgasm glow, when the bishop gently flicks her nose as she had done to him earlier.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“You lied to me, Flayn.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You said today was a dangerous day for you. Your period starts in three days, today was absolutely a safe day.” He sighs dramatically. “And I still fell for it. Women can truly be quite scary.”

Flayn giggles. “So what do I win?”  
  
“Hmm… If I said ‘whatever you want’, what would you say?”

The Saint nuzzles up to the bishop’s ear, and with a breathy whisper says, “I want to do this again when it really is a dangerous day.”

Linhardt turns to look at her with a look of pleasant surprise. After a moment, he returns his head to the pillow.

“Would you be willing to wait until after the war? Parenthood already sounds stressful enough, I don’t know that I’d want to try to fight the Adrestian Empire at the same time.”

Flayn smiles, “You accepted that pretty quickly. I was afraid you might laugh at me.” She curls up closer to Linhardt as a cool wind blows through the room. “Do you think this war is going to end soon? I was only able to experience peace for a short while. What if… What if something happens to one of us?”

Linhardt is quiet for a second, trying to account for Flayn’s worldview as a magical dragon that is hundreds of years old that had spent the better part of the continent’s history comatose from injuries inflicted during a genocide of her race. It is a lot to consider.

“I think I understand your concern Flayn. But, I don’t think you should write off the Professor and all your friends at Garreg Mach quite so fast. Soon this bloodshed will end, and a calm will return to the land. That’s where we’ll raise a family. I promise you.” He wraps an arm around her, pulling her in even closer, giving her a peck on the top of her head.

Flayn returns the hug. “I’ll hold you to that, Lin.”

Linhardt absentmindedly runs his fingers through the love of his life’s hair. They lay in comfortable silence, watching the sun paint the sky blue, violet, red, and then an inky dark blue.

As he often finds himself doing since he started his relationship with Flayn, Linhardt wonders how he ever got so lucky.


End file.
